


fin du monde dans nos paumes

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tainted AU, Tainted Mikleo, a bit of blood but thats all dw, mild body horror, sappy sorey, scared mikleo, sprouting wings so yknow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10819446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: It wasn't that much, he justifies. And really, it wasn't. Was he just that weak? Could he really not withstand more malevolence than that?All he'd wanted was to help Sorey, to lessen the burden he had to carry. Taking malevolence onto himself hadn't been hard, nor had it been burdensome on his body. At first.





	fin du monde dans nos paumes

**Author's Note:**

> ignores any and all lore to give myself hurt/comfort ayy

The realization doesn't come slowly, or even over time. There are no warning bells, nor any flags. It just hits him, harder than any strike of a Hellion ever could.

Sorey's look, genuinely scared, aimed at him is stronger than any of them combined.

Mikleo opens his mouth, any words dying on his tongue as it gets dry all of a sudden. Sorey just stands there, looking at him in more of a concerned way, but Mikleo isn't sure that's any better. He tries talking once again, but his throat is tight and doesn't cooperate.

So instead, he just shakes his head and returns the gaze with his own drawn brows, hoping the 'I'm so sorry,' is at least visible in his eyes. Then he twists on his heel and rushes out, his soles squeaking on the floor as he does so.

He thinks he can hear Sorey calling from behind him, but he doesn't want to go back. His gut is twisted in tight knots and it feels like he could puke any moment.

_That look..._

Never in his life did Mikleo think a look like that could be aimed at him. Full of fear, of scorn, of disappointment.

He bites down at his lip to fight the tears that start to gather at his lashes. His steps are harder, louder than usual, and his spine aches with the developing bones.

It wasn't that much, he justifies. And really, it wasn't. Was he just that weak? Could he really not withstand more malevolence than that?

All he'd wanted was to help Sorey, to lessen the burden he had to carry. Taking malevolence onto himself hadn't been hard, nor had it been burdensome on his body. At first.

And then it spread in him, like a pond infected with waste. He could do nothing but hide the way his teeth sharpened, his meticulously cared-for nails grew into claws, the protrusions on his back, wings just waiting to tear through the skin and stretch their span to the skies.

But Sorey noticed, of course he noticed, he always notices everything. Mikleo hadn't been ready (he isn't sure he ever would've been). And he definitely hadn't been ready for Sorey to be scared.

It makes sense, though, doesn't it?

All the dragons they'd seen and heard of were mindless beasts only yearning for destruction and chaos. Would he end up like that as well? No wonder Sorey had been scared.

Something spikes painfully in his chest and he doesn't double over out of his sheer desperation to get away. His fingers are curled tight around the width of his staff, knuckles beyond whitened.  
He leaves the inn behind, running out of the city as fast as his trembling legs are able to take him. There are ruins close by, where he can take refuge, hide out until everyone forgets about him. Or maybe he could go to Edna's brother. Surely he wouldn't attack Mikleo anymore, since he is... one of them now.

It's a weird feeling.

And only now does Mikleo really notice that he's left alone. Not a single Hellion pays him any heed, even as he walks right past one, so close he could reach out and touch it.

Moss muffles his footsteps as he descends down stairs into the ruins, passing fallen debris overrun by plants. The underground is slightly musty, and yet he has no problems breathing the air, no matter how stale the smell gets.

Mikleo follows the winding corridors, legs working on autopilot as they carry him as far as possible.

There is a fountain of sorts sitting in the middle of the grand hall, half broken and covered in vines and moss. A small trickle of water pours out from the chipped mouth of a beast statue, providing soothing background noise.

That's where Mikleo decides to stay, curled up by the cold stone of the fountain, with the occasional droplets of water hitting his face when a draft comes through.

* * *

The malevolence is thick, so putrid it weights on his chest like a boot, making it difficult to breathe, much less concentrate.

Is this what Mikleo had had to deal with? This suffocating feeling, holding down his body and twisting his gut in knots surely not physically possible.

With a sinking in his heart, Sorey descends down into the ruins, following the unmistakable tug of malevolence, itching to grab his sword, call on Lailah and purify it. But Lailah isn't here, and this isn't a thing to purify.

His hand runs over the cracked walls, eyes gazing down into the dimness of the corridors. Under any other circumstances, he would probably be fawning over the ruins' age or architecture, but now, he couldn't muster any interest in the stones.

The never ending twists and turns lead him further and further into the heart of the ruins, until he hits what seems to be the actual heart of it.

The sound of water echoes between the dome-shaped walls, and there's a figure laying on the ground, curled up and appearing much smaller than it should.

"Mikleo!" Sorey exclaims, on his knees next to the boy in a heartbeat and tentatively reaching out to touch his shoulder. The malevolence is so thick he can almost see it in the ruins' stale air.

Mikleo stirs, twisting his head to look at him with eyes that seem entirely unlike him; hollow and slitted. They take too long to focus on him, and when they finally do, Mikleo takes a sharp, hissing breath and jumps away as if Sorey's touch scalded him.

"What're you doing here?" he asks, gripping his staff. Sorey hadn't even noticed the weapon, a testament to how tightly Mikleo had been curled up around it. "Are you here to purify me?"

Sorey shakes his head, but Mikleo keeps going.

"Or maybe taunt me? Have you come to tell me how disappointed you are since you didn't got to last time? Because if so, I don't feel bad about it in the slightest! I had to-"

"Stop it!" Sorey exclaims, his voice strained. The sheer volume of his voice seems to stare Mikleo into submission. His whole body is shaking, much like Mikleo's; there's a knot lodged in his chest, and it doesn't have anything to do with the malevolence. Though it had thickened even further, swirling around them lazily like fresh pudding.

Mikleo looks at him with a frown, eyes betraying how much it hurt to even say that aloud. To see him with his staff held tight, body scrunched in preparation to jump away or strike back, is the last straw for Sorey.

"Mikleo!" he says, steeling his voice. To think Mikleo had been suffering so much all because of him... "I didn't come here to do any of that!"

Mikleo adverts his eyes, staring intently at the crack running down the wall. "Then you should go," he says.

The shepherd's jaw hurts from how hard he clenches his teeth. "No, Mikleo. I'm not going to abandon you, why do you keep saying that?"

"Because I've been tainted. It's your job."

"Mikleo..." Sorey steps forward, avoiding the staff coming at him from the right as if it didn't exist. His arms encircle the seraph and the wooden weapon ends up smushed between them.

Mikleo freezes up, going even stiffer, if that's even possible. His attempts at pushing Sorey away are half-hearted at best, trembling hands unable to make use of their real strength.

"Mikleo, you're... still you, no matter what happens. We've always been together," Sorey whispers into his ear, belatedly noticing how it seems to be pointed now. It's almost cute as it twitches when his breath hits it. "You always do things for me, always, _always_ think of me first. It gets you hurt and I can't bear to see you like this alone."

For all the talk of dragon strength, Mikleo's legs can't even hold him up anymore. The staff falls to the floor with a dull ‘ _thud’_ , and Mikleo would've followed it if not for Sorey's arms holding him upright. Still, the brunet must notice how lax he goes, because he slowly lowers them to the ground, heedless of the rocks digging into his knees through his pants.

"Mikleo, a world without you isn't one worth living in, even if it was the purest one. Please, please let me stay with you. Please let me do this for you. _Please_."

Mikleo isn't the only shaking one by the end of that speech, Sorey's fingers digging into the fabric of Mikleo's capes to hide how badly they're trembling. Mikleo returns the embrace, slowly winding his arms around Sorey's wider chest, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He hadn't even realized he'd started crying, but there are tears rolling down his cheeks and soaking into the fabric of Sorey's shepherd cloak.

"The world will end without you," he mutters, chest heavy with guilt.

"Let it," is Sorey's ready answer. He tightens his hold further. "I'd even help it if you wanted me to."

Mikleo sniffles. "You mean that? You? What about your dream?"

"There is no _my dream_. There has never been," Sorey coos, running his hand through Mikleo's hair. His fingertips run over a protrusion and he glances over to see tiny horns beginning to peek through Mikleo's snowy hair. They're the same shade of blue as the tips of it, what a coincidence. "There's only _our dream_. What would you like it to be?"

The question and its wording actually makes Mikleo pause and think about it. Sorey, unlike himself, waits patiently while Mikleo mulls it over.

"Us," he breathes finally, "I want to be at your side as always."

Sorey drops his hand to cup Mikleo's cheek, thumbing away the teary lines there and aiming the head up so Mikleo looks at him.

"See?" he smiles, his eyes crinkling st the corners, "Our dream has always been the same."

Mikleo sobs, the emotional turmoil plaguing his insides exchanged with the purest ache of love. He clings to Sorey until he's sure he's making it hard for him to breathe, but Sorey doesn't complain.

There, with only the sounds of drizzling water and Sorey's soft cooing, Mikleo cries out, letting out all his pain and sadness. The fabric of his tunic tears and Sorey's hands fly from his back to his arms, holding on tightly as blue-tinted masses of leather force their way from beneath Mikleo's skin, stretching to their full length and knocking the head of the statue in the fountain off. They shine with a mixture of blood and something else that Sorey can’t immediately place, each scale growing on the leathery surface a different hue of blue in the uneven lighting.

Mikleo ends up slumped in Sorey's hold, the wings twitching on their own minutely. 

"Wow, Mikleo," Sorey whispers, completely lost as he follows the curves of the wings and the ever changing colors playing on them. "I'm sure there are no prettier wings anywhere."

And, at that stupid, Sorey-like comment, Mikleo bursts into laughter, aching shoulders shaking with his breathing underneath Sorey's palms. "Truly a hopeless romantic," he wheezes out, earning himself a grin, ear to ear.

"You don't want to turn into a dragon, do you, Mikleo?" Sorey asks, gently, so very carefully running a finger over the bony part of one wing, pulling away as soon as Mikleo jerks.

Mikleo thinks back to Eizen, of how he didn't hesitate to attack even his closest friend and sister. "No," he says decisively.

"Let me take some of your malevolence, then," the shepherd says.

Mikleo doesn't say anything, but malevolence rolls off of him in waves and Sorey takes it in strides, until Mikleo unhunches himself, breathing a little deeper now, a little more stable. And suddenly, the weight of the air isn't as much; in fact, it almost feels _welcoming_ now, curling around them like a hazy blanket.

"We'll be together, right?" Mikleo asks, pale hand tracing the contour of Sorey's cheek, thumb pushing his lips apart, examining the way his teeth seem that much pointier, especially as the lips curl into a grin.

"We'll make this world one where we can live together," Sorey says, sounding absolutely sure. Some of that confidence seems to rub off on Mikleo and he grins back, jagged fangs making for a look not many would describe as happy. Sorey does, though. _Cute_ and _fitting_ are other words he'd describe it as.

"You think you can fly?" Sorey asks out of nowhere, running a finger down a wing again. Mikleo shivers at the contact, but otherwise doesn't move to get it off.

He hums, "We can find out."

"I've always wanted to see the world from all the way up there."

"Am I your personal transporter now?" Mikleo asks, feigning hurt, but it's lost as he's still smiling, the thought of Sorey riding him all the way up in the cloud thrilling.

Sorey leans in to press a kiss to the side of Mikleo's face. "The one and only."


End file.
